


Fashion Faux Pas, and Advice from a Career Martyr

by deliriumbubbles



Series: The Complications of Being a Whole [3]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21570385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: Maggie has a really important meeting tomorrow and gets some fashion, and career, advice from probably the worst source for both in her life.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Maggie Vera
Series: The Complications of Being a Whole [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545673
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	Fashion Faux Pas, and Advice from a Career Martyr

Maggie shrieked as she dropped to the ground. That’s where she was still when Harry popped into existence behind her. She looked up at Harry sulkily.

“Nosy much?”

“I thought you were _dying_.” Harry gave her a stern look. “I’ll go.”

“No, stay.” Maggie got up and sighed. “You can help me choose. Though, for what it’s worth, if a girl screams out of nowhere and then you don’t hear anything else, it was probably a spider.”

“Noted. Although Mel isn’t all that bothered by arachnids or insects.” Harry shrugged. “And I don’t mind them so much anymore. I could probably shoo a spider or two out of the house.”

He came over the bed, which was covered in a pile of tops and skirts and belts and pairs of shoes. “It’s a good thing we just moved the house itself. It would have taken far too long to pack all of this.”

“We have a staff meeting for all the biggiest wigs at Safe Space tomorrow. Don’t clothing-shame me.”

Harry looked back at her and said solemnly, “I would never.”

Maggie quirked her mouth to side. “I should probably just… go with a white blouse and a normal colored suit jacket and skirt. Be a responsible adult.”

“Being an adult is overrated, which I’m sure you’ve discovered over the past few months.” Harry leaned over and started looking through the tops strewn on the bed. “Not that we’ve had much chance to talk about, well, _anything_ beyond not dying and keeping others from dying, but I’ve been proud of how you’ve done with this job so far. I’m no expert on management, but you work very hard to create a good environment for people to work in.”

“I _try_. It just feels a little, I dunno. Silly?” Maggie sank onto the side of her bed. “I’m organizing stupid stuff like karaoke night. It’s what I would be doing if I were back in Hilltowne as the social activities chair.”

“And apparently, you’d be _good_ at it. The Safe Spaceans seem to enjoy the stupid stuff.” Harry pulled out a fuchsia blouse, frowned at it, and set it aside. “And they work hard. It’s important they not give up _everything_ for that work. In my experience, the older you are and more mature you become, the more you realize that you need your downtime, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Maggie leaned back on her palms. “Do _you_?”

Harry put his hands on his hips, surveying the mound of clothing. “In all honesty? Probably.” He retreated to Maggie’s closet and returned with a teal, chiffon blouse with a smattering of differently sized stars all over it. “But for me, downtime is time to _think_ , and I’ve been trying quite assiduously _not_ to do that. I’d suggest this one, with that gray pleated skirt you have?”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure? I don’t think that goes with ‘Professional Maggie.’ With the co-owners of the co-op there?”

“I don’t see why not.” Harry hung the blouse on the side of the mirror and went looking for the skirt. “It’s colorful but tasteful, and it has your signature stars.”

Maggie felt heat rising to her cheeks. The stars had been a thing she’d picked as “hers” when she was in 7th grade. She couldn’t even remember why, just that all her clothes and school supplies had suddenly been covered with stars. Embarrassing that Harry had noticed how much she still wore them.

“It’s fine for everyday stuff, but super formal meetings aren’t the time to take fashion risks.”

Harry returned to the foot of the bed with the skirt. “Why not?”

“Because these people hired _me_ instead of someone qualified. Because everyone is depending on _me_. Mel is working her brains out, putting the Book of Shadows back together from memory, and now running Spellbound. _Always_ the overachiever. And you and Macy have—“ Maggie hesitated, then finished vaguely: “You guys have been running ragged, trying to fight on your own. The least I can do is be Professional Maggie for you guys.”

Harry wobbled his head from side to side, then took on an intense expression that Maggie didn’t entirely recognize. She _barely_ stopped herself from pulling away. Jimmy, James, Harry. They were all the same, now. A swirl of personalities stuck in one body. Maggie had forgotten. She kept _forgetting_. It was as bad as when he’d first found out about what the Elders had done to him, and they couldn’t seem to manage not to say something that just _triggered_ him, reminding him of being on that slab in Scotland and leaving him in a bad mood for hours.

Jimmy didn’t come close, like this, though. Gentle, patient, perching on the end of her bed.

“I think, maybe, I understand what it’s like, not feeling yourself,” he said quietly. “When we first came here, I didn’t have any of my things. I just picked up a few shirts here and there when I could get back to my flat, so I stuck with shirts and slacks. Whatever worked. Now that I’ve had the time, I looked through my wardrobe for whatever I might need, and I found this… Good god, truly hideous blue-grey, fitted, _hip-length_ button-up sweater. And I remembered, I was wearing that when I _met_ you.”

He shook his head at her, almost smiling. “Who _was_ that person?”

Maggie couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh, it was awful!”

“I must’ve looked like a toddler-grandpa.”

Maggie covered her mouth to keep from outright cackling. “Ohhh, I loved _your_ grandpa clothes! I mean, you’re over a hundred years old! You can wear fuzzy sweaters if you want!”

“I don’t anymore, though. I don’t know _what_ would make me feel like _me_.” He folded his hands and shook his head. “I suppose I started dressing in that way—comforting, professional, _harmless_ —much for the same reason I took the time to build credentials as a Women and Gender Studies professor. It was simply better for my work that I look and act a certain way to perform at my best. To aid fledgling witches the most. How am I supposed to help young women if I’m utterly _uneducated_ in their needs? I am an old white man, as Mel would so aptly point out. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the chance to spend time at university studying. I didn’t have the chance when I was alive, you know, and the material was all of interest to me. I don’t regret that part. Still, what I _did_ was who I _became_.”

Harry looked up at the blouse. The shadows under his eyes almost made him look gaunt. “Anyway. You shouldn’t have to give up part of yourself if you enjoy it. Especially such a benign part. That’s all I’m suggesting. Twenty isn’t sixty. And you can be fun _as well as_ professional. If you still like the stars, wear them. If you don’t, go with something more demure. You’re at the age where it’s expected that you spend some time working these things out.”

“So are you, apparently,” Maggie teased.

“If you have any fashion tips, I wouldn’t say no.” Harry clapped his hands onto his knees, the way he did when he was about to stand. Like he was actually an old man who needed to push himself up, in spite of actually being pretty spry and a decent fighter to boot. “Apparently, every part of me needs them.”

Maggie sucked in her lower lip and frowned. “Can I have your old man sweater?”

Harry laughed. Deep in his throat, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle and color to rise to his cheeks. It sounded so good. Maggie bet it felt good for him to laugh like that, too.

“It’s yours, my dear.” Harry rose and headed for the door. “And, best of luck on your meeting. I’m sure you’ll give them a fresh perspective. If you’re lucky, there will be doughnuts. There were often pastries at faculty meetings.”

“Do you miss teaching?” Maggie asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “A bit. It was always a press, trying to juggle students with my charges.”

“So, if you could keep teaching witches, would you?”

Harry crossed his arms and blew air slowly through his lips. “I think I must. I’m the only Whitelighter left.”

“As long as you remember to keep your own stars while helping others to shine.” Maggie grinned and gave Harry a wink.

Harry winced. “Ohhh, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t resist.” Maggie held up the skirt to the blouse Harry had picked out. “Hey. If nothing world-ending happens tomorrow, do you want to go hang out somewhere outside of the house and Safe Space? You and me and Mel and Macy. We’ve barely even seen Seattle.”

“If nothing world-ending happens…” Harry nodded slightly. “I’d like that.”

On a whim, Maggie came up to him and put her arms around his waist. His muscles tensed, like Jimmy’s had, that one time she’d hugged him unexpectedly. But his arms came around her shoulders, warm and comforting, like Harry.

“What’s this for?” Harry murmured.

“I needed it. And you looked like you could use it, too.” Maggie stepped back and looked up at him. “Get some rest, okay?”

“I really am going to be all right, you know. I’m sorry that I’ve been so…”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“It really _isn’t_. No matter what’s happened, you shouldn’t have to suffer because I can’t pull myself together faster.”

“I have two sisters.” She rolled her eyes. “I can deal with someone acting PMS-y.”

Harry rubbed his fingers over his lips. “Er…”

“I know it’s not…” Maggie looked down at her nails. “I mean I know it’s more PTSD-y, and if I were still taking psych classes—Actually, I probably couldn’t do anything anyway.”

Harry crossed his arms over himself. Not angrily, but as though he were holding himself. Keeping himself upright. “You and your sisters are helping a lot more than you know. Sometimes, I need to remember _why_ I’m trying. Where I’ve been, who I’ve been. There’s a lot going on up here.”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “But I need you to... Be honest with me? If I get out of line, or hurt you—“

“You gotta trust yourself sometime, Harry.”

Harry raised both of his brows. “Not tonight.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Definitely tomorrow. I’m gonna plan us something super, super fun. I swear.” Maggie pointed her fingers at him. “It’s gonna be epic.”

An unfamiliar twinkle of mischief flashed in Harry’s eyes. “Oh, it had _better_ be. We haven’t made a night of it since your birthday.”

Maggie bounced on her heels as Harry left her room. There were so many things that needed to be done. So many things that Maggie wished she could do. Getting everyone out of the house for a little down time seemed like a small thing, comparatively. They were all trying to regain a sense of stability, and it kept coming in fits and starts and backslides.

Cleaning up the clothes on her bed so she could go to sleep herself, Maggie tried to think of the best thing for them to do. Macy would be hard. The Seattle library? The Space Needle? Harry would probably be interested in the museums, or the botanical gardens. Or would the Jimmy in him want to go for drinks? Harry liked to drink, too. Maybe a little too much.

Mel would be down for drinks. Not for the library. Walking through a garden would drive her crazy.

This would take some serious thought. No matter what, though, if they weren’t busy saving lives tomorrow night, they were going out. Harry was right. They needed some stupid stuff in their lives. And they needed to do it together.


End file.
